Biting me softly, p.23
Biting Me Softly, page 23
Ruthven was gulping blood. I could tolerate it when Logan sipped, but yuck. I ran into the bathroom, pretending it was to comb my hair, but really it was just so I didn’t puke in public. Still hadn’t found that bucket.
The click of the outer door alerted me to Logan’s arrival. I braced myself for a peek. The Logan entering the office was not one I’d seen before, not playful Logan nor Logan the CEO. This wasn’t even the hungry predator or executioner.
No, the dangerous male who shimmered with inhuman speed through the door had fangs like knives, muscles of steel cable and eyes that burned hotter than rivers of blood.
This was Logan the dark vampire prince. And he was one scary mutha. I cowered just a little behind the bathroom door.
Ruthven whirled. The empty cup crushed in his hand. “I claim right of pax!” He didn’t exactly squeal it but his voice was high and strained. “I come to parley, Steel.”
“Really?” Logan glided, eerily smooth, into the room. His glittering eyes were hard on Ruthven. “I come to fight.”
Ruthven backed into my desk. “You can’t! Not without horrible consequences.”
Logan glided closer until he was toe-to-toe with Ruthven. “The Ancient One considers the consequences well worth shouldering, to rid the world of you.”
Ruthven swallowed hard. With the desk in the way, he couldn’t retreat further. His hand stole toward his open coat.
Before I could even squeak a warning, Logan backed off. “However. Both the Ancient One and I have no wish to cause trouble for the master of this city.”
“I don’t mind.” Bo’s voice was rough, practically a growl.
Elena unshouldered her XM25.
Time for cooler heads to intervene. “I mind.” I emerged cautiously from the bathroom. “A turf war is never nice to the turf. If you’re going to fight, boys, take it outside.”
Logan must have been concentrating on Ruthven to the exclusion of all else because my appearance surprised him. He whirled on Bo. “Damn it, Strongwell. You were supposed to get her out of here.”
The corner of Bo’s mouth turned up. “I don’t know if you noticed, but your female’s kind of stubborn.”
Your female? As in Logan’s female? As in I was Logan’s—shizzle. First sex thrall, then girlfriend, now this. Was everyone delusional?
“I know,” Logan said. “That’s why you were supposed to persuade her to leave. She won’t listen to me.”
“She is right here,” I pointed out. “You can complain about her to her face.”
Logan heaved a huge breath, turned to me. “Liese, this is vampire business. No humans should be here.” His eyes’ angry fire cooled as his gaze rested on me, but the fangs remained out. It occurred to me to wonder how he managed to speak around them without lisping.
“No humans? What about Elena? What about Race?”
“Elena’s part of our world—”
“Race?” Ruthven frowned. “Who is Race?” His eyes bounced from me to Logan and finally to Race. And then he just cackled. “Oh, Race. And she believed it. That is rich.”
“Liese, allow me to introduce Ruthven’s second for these negotiations.” Logan waved a hand toward Race. “Razor.”
My face heated. Yeah, I should have known. But it floored me.
And after a moment I decided it really pissed me off. Logan hadn’t told me. And this lie didn’t affect only me. My mother was dating a rogue. Okay, she knew she was dating a rogue, but not that he wasn’t the normal human kind. Race was a v-rogue, much more dangerous. Bo and Elena had known too, but it was Logan’s deception that hurt. Like our intimacy hadn’t meant a thing, like I wasn’t worth telling the truth. Like the only way I’d get it was if he was drunk. Great, drunk truth. Brainless Race was right. I felt slightly dirty.
Race…Razor gave me a salacious grin. “Now you get why I coulda done you good, dollface?”
“You all knew,” I choked out. “At Nieman’s the other night. You knew he was a vampire and didn’t say anything.” Though I spoke to all of them, my eyes were cutting Logan a new one.
“Liese.” Now Logan’s fangs did recede. “I—”
“I don’t have all night, Steel,” Ruthven cut in harshly. He snatched up another cup of blood. “Are we negotiating, or aren’t we? Because if we aren’t, I have things to do.”
Flashing me a final, frustrated look, Logan drew back his leather jacket. “We are. I declare my peaceful intent by offering my weapon.” With supple strength he drew a gleaming three-foot saber and placed it on my desk. My jaw dropped.
“I offer my weapon.” Ruthven withdrew a slim stiletto and laid it next to the saber. It was insignificant compared to the sword, except for the heavy crust of rubies and sapphires on the hilt. Well, and the evil green poison-like tinge on the wicked point. A poisoned dagger, just inside his coat…I shuddered.
Bo stepped forward, reached over his shoulder and drew a huge blade, so quickly and smoothly I knew it wasn’t the first time. He laid it on my desk where it lopped over the edge. I wondered how I’d missed seeing such a giant thing. “I declare pax on this gathering and offer my weapon as proof.”
“Yeah, likewise.” Race…Razor pulled a foot-long black rod out of his jacket. I was still wondering how Bo had hidden that huge sword. Must have been in a scabbard under his jacket, but how did I miss the hilt? Wrapped in leather, yellow crisscrossed with ecru, almost a foot long—oh. Blended with his hair.
Razor dropped his rod onto the table. At first I thought it was a cudgel of some sort, harmless compared to the sharp blades. Logan caught my unimpressed glance. “Don’t be lulled. That’s a switchblade. And he has been known to carry a meat cleaver.”
I shivered. A fricking foot-long, deadly switchblade.
“What about her?” Razor nodded at Elena, who was leaning on her XM25.
Ruthven shrugged. “She is human. She does not count.”
Didn’t that just figure. At least it wasn’t just me. Apparently all humans weren’t worthy in his vampire eyes.
Logan grabbed one of the guest chairs, set it in front of him. “I stand as representative of the Iowa Alliance. Who stands as my second?”
Bo grabbed another chair, set it opposite Logan’s and stood behind it. “I do.”
“The Iowa Alliance is fully represented. Who stands for the Chicago Coterie?”
Ruthven nodded sharply at Razor, who jumped to set a chair between Logan’s and Bo’s. Ruthven stepped behind it. “I represent the Coterie. This one is my second.” He waved at Razor, who was dragging the last chair across from Ruthven to make a square.
“The requirements are satisfied,” Logan said. “One principal and one second from each faction. Weapons set aside. The territory under dispute is the Meiers Corners Blood Center. Let us sit.”
When they weren’t trying to blend, vampires in motion were weird. One moment the four were standing behind their chairs. Then they—well, flickered is the only word I can think of—and a moment later they stood in front of the chairs. When they sat it was with a fluid strength that went beyond words like power and grace and came uncomfortably close to ooze.
As I said, weird. If I hadn’t been so mad, I’d have been impressed.
But I was mad. That negligent show of alien strength and dexterity only made me madder. Whose Blood Center was this, anyway?
If the blood was for human transfusions, why were vampires fighting over it? Fighting like dogs over a bone. Well, maybe negotiating, not fighting, but still. Why were no humans included? Did they think we weren’t worthwhile?
For all their grand words, did even the good-guy vamps really think of us as blood sheep, with no will of our own, or at least none worth worrying about?
I’ve mentioned how I couldn’t defend myself from a mosquito but when other people’s welfare was at risk, look out? Well, this wasn’t just other people we were talking about. This was humanity. And I was getting right royally pissed.
“We are agreeable to letting you keep the Blood Center,” Ruthven said in his opening salvo. “If you concede rights to the distributions.”
“Keep the building, but lose the blood? How generous.” Logan leaned forward, face intent. His eyes were that sharp, glittering gold. He was so damned gorgeous. I had to work to remember it was all just part of his vampire’s bag of predator’s advantages. “Let me make a counter-offer. You leave the Blood Center alone, promise never to interrupt its shipments, and the Alliance will leave you alone.”
“We get nothing?” Ruthven hmphed. “That is not a serious offer.”
“You get immunity.” Logan’s eyes flicked to his saber, then back to Ruthven. “You should remember that my master gave me leave to destroy you.”
“The vaunted Ancient One? And why would you be so generous as to spare me if Elias wants my head?”
Logan’s grin turned deadly. “Let’s just say I have a vested interest in keeping the waters smooth in Meiers Corners.”
“Why us, anyway?” Bo spoke for the first time since giving up his mammoth sword. “We’re small potatoes, even distributing for the Midwest. Why aren’t you raiding distributors in Chicago, or one of the rich suburbs? Or even Milwaukee or Rockford?”
Race poked his hand up. “Ooh, I know that one. Master Nosferatu won’t let us. He says it’ll expose us to too much pubicity.” He sat back, a delighted grin on his face.
Ruthven grimaced. “Publicity, you imbecile.”
Logan’s eyes turned thoughtful. “The very fact that Meiers Corners is small is an attraction to him. Fewer people to catch on. Elias suggested something of the sort.”
Bo glared at Ruthven. “You’re saying you’ve been hounding us because we have the most blood for the least risk?”
“I didn’t say it.” With a black glare at Razor, Ruthven added in a mutter, “Nosferatu is a coward.”
“You’re making my life hell because nobody will notice?” Bo’s fangs extended. “Fuck that.”
Elena gripped her XM25. “I say we cap them here and now, and damn the consequences.”
Razor shot to his feet. Bo’s eyes turned blood red.
“We are under pax,” Ruthven snarled.
“My city is not a toy.” Bo sliced one hand through the air. His fingers were tipped with wicked-looking talons.
“Lieutenant.” Ruthven went sheet-white but his voice was imperious. “Defend me.”
Razor made a dive for his switchblade. Bo leaped to his feet, brandishing claws and fangs. His chair toppled with a crash.
It would be all-out war.
Chapter Sixteen
But a while back I’d read the escalating situation and eased to my feet, pepper spray ready.
Oh, and I’d swiped Razor’s switchblade from the table.
Even with his supernatural advantage, Raze-man couldn’t go back in time. As he dove for the now-empty spot on the desk I flicked the knife open with a snap of the wrist. It made a very satisfying ka-click.
Razor skidded to a halt mere millimeters from impalement.
“Sit.” I pointed the blade at his chair. He looked like he wanted to argue, so I raised my other hand, which held—a battery. Damn, it’d felt like pepper spray. I really was going to have to clean my purse. I dropped the battery, grabbed the knife with both hands and jabbed at him. “Sit, before I have to hurt you. Sit.”
Razor eyed the knife warily. “I could take that away from you in a second.”
“You’d better do as she says.” Logan’s tone was laconic. Unlike the other four, he lounged in his chair. “She doesn’t need a knife to cut you. She can slice and dice you with her wit.”
Hearing that, Razor subsided into his chair. It might also have been because Elena pointed her XM25 between his eyebrows.
“Good. Now.” I waved the knife at the four vampires. “I listened to you all argue and make arrogant remarks and beat your chests like barbarians.”
“We weren’t—” Razor half-rose.
“Enough.”
He sat. Logan smirked, damn him. He was enjoying this.
“This is how it’s going down. This is a human blood center, providing human blood—for humans. Since you vampires apparently don’t understand property rights, we’re going to have to do this the hard way. A fight.”
Logan’s eyes swung to me, speculation gleaming from their golden depths.
Elena’s hand tightened on her grenade launcher. “Liese, no. You can’t fight vampires. They’re stronger, faster—”
“In a battle of sheepshead, ladies and gentlevamps.” I pointed at Logan and Bo. “You two will represent the Meiers Corners vampires. You two—” Ruthven and Razor, “—the Coterie. One hand, winner take all.”
Bo growled. “The loser gives up all claim? I don’t think—”
“No, you don’t think. Human blood, remember? Ours? Or was that just Alliance propaganda bullshit?”
“Hey, that’s right,” Elena said. “It’s our blood. Why are you guys negotiating?”
“Elena—” Bo glanced at her. She unleashed a really nasty combo of the Cop Glare and The Look on him and he shut his mouth.
“So.” I gave them each a penetrating stare. “Agreed?”
Ruthven’s eyes had gone from blood red to a sly, glittering black. “Sheepshead, hmm? It has been a while since I have played. Still…agreed.”
“Damn me, she’s right.” Bo slapped his leg. “Agreed.”
“Not me. Not if he plays.” Razor pointed a claw at Logan. “He’s a sheepshead monster. Anyway, he’s not from Meiers Corners. He can’t play for their team.”
“I’m Julian Emerson’s designated agent.” Logan smiled, lavish lengths of fang showing. “For the purposes of these negotiations, I’m a Meiers Corners vampire.”
“Bah,” Ruthven said. “You argue semantics, but I care not. I will defeat you and the Blood Center will be mine, without a single Lestat falling. Then Nosferatu cannot fail to award me the lion’s share of the spoils. Very well, Steel and Strongwell against me and my lieutenant. Four-handed sheepshead. Let us begin.”
“But boss—” Razor began.
“We’ll cream you,” Bo said.
“Bo, remember,” Elena said. “You can’t trust them.”
Ruthven cackled.
“Not four-handed.” I stabbed the knife into my desk with a thunk. There was instant silence. “Five-handed.”
Ruthven glared at me. “Meiers Corners vampires against Coterie vampires. There are but four.”
“You highhanded pigs forget who owns this place. Humans. I’m playing for us. And I’ll whip you all. Let’s take this gig over to Nieman’s. Oh, and leave the weapons here.”
They started objecting. I swept past them all to the door. “Enough. Are you vampires or, um, vermin? Let’s go.” I punched the door open.
With a certain amount of grumbling, the Coterie contingent moved out. Bo and Elena followed, Elena casting worried glances back at me.
“Liese,” Logan began.
I silenced him by flicking a glare at Race Gillette, a.k.a. Razor to everyone but me.
Smart as Logan was, I didn’t have to say a word. He heard “You lied to me” loud and clear. With a wince, he followed everyone out.
I got a fresh deck from Buddy the bartender and brought it to the table Bo’d set up in the back corridor, the only place empty enough in case things got fangy. The occasional drunk wove through to use the restrooms, but they wouldn’t notice anything.
I shuffled the cards and passed them to Ruthven, watching him cut. His hands flickered briefly and he slid the cards back with a smug smile. Cheat.
I’d expected that, though. I passed the cards to Elena for her to cut a second time. “Double cut, and Bo deals.”
Ruthven’s smug deflated.
I passed the cards to Bo, wiped my palms discreetly on my pants. A single hand of sheepshead. I’d wagered not only the Center’s future but that of the entire city on one hand of cards. What had I done?
What I had to do. My body was nervous but I sure as hell was not. This was the only way I could fight back, and I was determined to battle with everything I had. This total disregard of the humans shot me well beyond hot anger to a cold, frigid, how dare you.
I swiped up my cards. Ace, eight and seven of hearts, nine and seven of diamonds and ace of clubs. I carefully schooled my face against disappointment. It was not a winning hand. Some decent points though, enough to throw in with Logan, nudge his team for the win.
“Pass.” Razor snickered. Probably all trump. Damn mauerer (German for slimy suckbag sleazeball).
Bo threw a dark look at Razor. He’d caught the snicker too.
“I pass,” Ruthven said, tapping one finger against the table. He looked cool, untouchable. Like he had half a dozen queens up his sleeve. Probably did, the cheat.
I wiped my palm again. Damn it, I wanted to beat Ruthven just because he was such a cheat and jerk. He and his Loser-stats didn’t deserve our Blood Center.
But if Ruthven didn’t deserve the Blood Center, neither did Logan, who’d wanted me to trust him but lied about Razor. I looked at my hand again. Only two trump, both low. But with the aces, not good for a leaster, either.
Ham it to Dell, not a winning hand either way. But if I didn’t even try for a win, humans would get shut out, voiceless.
I picked up the blind. Maybe there’d be eight queens.
Logan looked at me like I’d gone nuts. Which meant he had as many power cards as Razor. Which meant…the blind was the ten of hearts and the king of diamonds.
A partner could save me. If it turned out to be Race or Logan, who apparently held the strong cards, I could ride along for the win.
The problem with sheepshead is you can’t actually pick your partner. I could only call an ace. If I called an ace that Logan held, humanity would have beneficent masters. Oh joy. If Razor held it, humanity would share the Blood Center with a group not known for playing nicely with others.
